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<title>your iridescent glow (i can only fantasize) by spark_s</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27186005">your iridescent glow (i can only fantasize)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/spark_s/pseuds/spark_s'>spark_s</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>SKAM (Spain)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, F/F</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 03:40:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,482</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27186005</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/spark_s/pseuds/spark_s</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Joana sees her, she spills boiling coffee on herself.<br/>--<br/>The obligatory coffee shop AU.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joana Bianchi Acosta/Cristina "Cris" Soto Peña</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>117</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. the beginning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title from ebb &amp; flow by felivand </p>
<p>figured i teased it too long ago. i have a plot in mind and some other scenes already written. may get sorta long.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time Joana sees her, she spills boiling coffee on herself.</p><p>She’s leaning on the café bar, refilling Mr. Batiz’s mug – he always tips well, so Joana makes sure to make a fresh batch whenever she sees him come in – when the prettiest girl in the whole damn world walks in.</p><p>The first thing Joana notices is her hair: it cascades down her back, the blonde strands reflecting the incandescent coffeeshop lighting. The girl flips some over her shoulder, and Joana watches the movement obsessively. Then, she notices the gold hoops on her ears, and the girl’s arched cheekbones, and her mouth – oh, her mouth is just <em>sinful</em>-</p><p>Joana yelps as the coffee scalds her hand and spills onto the counter. She slams the mug down, mutters an apology to Mr. Batiz (who only chuckles and winks at her, that smug bastard), and spins around to run a cloth under cold water.</p><p>When she turns back around from nursing her hand, the girl is at the table in the corner, laughing with her friends. She laughs with her whole body – her head thrown back, exposing the pale column on her neck. Joana wonders what it would taste like.</p><p>--</p><p>The second time Joana sees her, she’s already convinced herself that it was all a dream. A really, really nice dream.</p><p>Neither the girl nor her friends have come to the shop in almost a week, and honestly? Imagining an angel came into the café wouldn’t be the weirdest side effect of her medication.</p><p>But then, the girl walks into the store, with her hair and her face and her beautiful arms and that little jump in her step, and Joana has to pinch herself.</p><p>The girl is with a boy this time, which isn’t great, but the girl punches him in the arm, then he lunges forward to ruffle her hair, so Joana guesses he’s probably her brother. At least a close friend, but not somebody the girl is attracted to. Joana lets herself think about the girl being into girls – specifically, into <em>Joana. </em>She’s fallen for a straight girl before, so she thinks she could handle it, but this one…</p><p>This one is different. Joana cannot pinpoint why, but it’s something she feels in her chest, in the warm spot that flutters when the universe tells her truths.</p><p>The boy coming to the counter snaps her out of her daze. He orders a black coffee (who comes to a café just to order a black coffee?), but then blanks on what the girl wanted. He spins around and asks, “Cris! What did you want again?”</p><p>She yells something back, the boy repeats it to Joana, she types it into the computer, and takes his money, but all she can think of is the name echoing in her head. </p><p>
  <em>Cris. Cris. Cris. </em>
</p><p>--</p><p>The third time she sees the girl – <em>Cris, </em>as if Joana could ever forget the name – it’s not at the coffeeshop. It’s much, <em>much </em>worse than that.</p><p>In Joana’s defence, it had been a long week. She had had to pick up three extra shifts because her cat got sick, and she totally forgot about the midterm on Wednesday until Tuesday night, so she pulled an all-nighter in a desperate attempt to salvage her grade. So, she figured she was entitled to a fun Friday night out with friends – specifically, one involving some weed, hope for a hook-up, and God knows how many shots of tequila.</p><p>(And if she hooks up with the first blonde she sees, then who could even judge her?)</p><p>The second she walks into the club – a little loose, her vision a little blurry, makeup a bit of a mess – she spots Cris. It has to be her: she’s in the middle of the dance floor, hair in a high ponytail, with glitter around her eyes and a massive smile on her face. She’s dancing like nobody is watching, and Joana falls in love a little bit.</p><p>Maybe it’s just the tequila, or maybe it’s the fact that she hasn’t stopped thinking about her in weeks. She catches herself daydreaming about Cris sometimes, about what it would be like to hold her hand, to kiss her, to hold her and trace her ribs and slot her thumbs in her hipbones. To feel Cris shudder beneath her, her breath heavy against her own mouth, wonders what it would feel like to inhale her love.</p><p>Joana does another shot before it becomes too much. When she looks back, Cris looks away.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, game on. </em>
</p><p>--</p><p>She sees Cris in flashes of neon. The lights pulse and scramble her orientation, but those blue eyes keep her grounded. She feels the bass in her stomach, the vibrations running up her body from her feet to her head, pulling her limbs in time with the beat. She tosses her hair around and moves her hips in a way that should be ridiculous and not sexy <em>at all</em>, but it feels right. Everything feels right about this moment.</p><p>Cris looks at her likes she wants to devour her.</p><p>Something pulls them together, like an invisible rope tied around their waists. They’re dancing so close together Joana can count Cris’ eyelashes, the freckles on her nose, the specks of glitter that have strayed to her cheeks. Cris consumes her senses – she forgets where she is, when she is, <em>what </em>she is; every atom in her body is pulling her closer to Cris.</p><p>There’s a piece of doubt in her, though. What if she’s reading this wrong? What if Cris isn’t actually interested, and thinks Joana is insane? What if-</p><p>Cris winds her arms around Joana’s shoulder, and her mind blanks.</p><p>Joana feels her thumbs slot against Cris’ hipbones, feels Cris shudder under her hands. She drags her palms away from Cris’ hips, slowly traces her torso, up to her ribs, tries to memorize how it feels because she doesn’t know if she’ll ever get this chance again. She leaves on hand on Cris’ ribs and curves another behind her back, up her spine, lets her fingers play with the vertebrae and settle on the highest one. She doesn’t apply pressure, doesn’t lean in – just searches desperately in Cris’ eyes for permission.</p><p>Cris doesn’t give it. Instead, she holds Joana’s head in her hands and pulls her body forward, until every part of them is touching. Cris’ lips are on hers and Joana can’t believe she’s gotten so far in life and never had <em>this. </em>This beautiful girl in her arms, these hands in her hair, this taste in her mouth. She doesn’t register the music, the people around them – just the way Cris moves with her, the synchronized motion of their hips, their tongues.</p><p>They break apart for hair,</p><p>“Want to get out of here?” Joana hears herself ask.</p><p>Cris barely has time to nod before Joana is grabbing her hand and pulling her through the crowd. She spots her friends at the bar and offers them a salute (they make lewd gestures in return). She hears some cheers from behind her and notices Cris’ friends giving her a thumbs up, while Cris sweetly flips them off and lets herself get dragged out of the club.</p><p>Once they’re out in the cool air, Joana presses Cris up against the brick wall.</p><p>“I thought we were getting out of here,” Cris murmurs, but her protests don’t land – her hands are tangled in Joana’s hair.</p><p>“We are out of there,” Joana whispers back, pressing kisses to the corners of Cris’ mouth, her jaw. She feels Cris shudder when she licks the spot under Cris’ ear, so she does it again.</p><p>“How about – <em>oh </em>– we go – <em>I swear girl if you stop </em>– to yours?”</p><p>Joana pulls away, but keeps her hands planted on Cris’ torso. She cocks an eyebrow, aiming for teasing and aloof. Cris laughs at her.</p><p>“Is that what you want?” Joana asks, and Cris lunges forward for another kiss.</p><p>“Take me home,” Cris whispers into her mouth.</p><p>Joana does.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. the falling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"'Maybe we should talk about this,' Joana breathes out. It feels like a bad idea, but a smart one.<br/>Cris laughs. 'About what? I’m pretty sure we both want the same thing.'<br/>Joana dares to hope. 'Oh yeah?'<br/>Cris pulls her in for a kiss – a deep one, a tender one, one with so much intensity to it Joana can feel it burn.<br/>She hopes against hope."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'll try not leave a month between chapters next time lol</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It should have been a five-minute walk to Joana’s from the club. She can do it in three if she’s sober and maximum six when she’s stoned. Tonight, the walk takes at least twenty.</p><p>In Joana’s defence, it’s not her fault they keep stopping to make out against storefronts – Cris is just really good at distracting her. Cris will rub her thumb against Joana’s tendon when they’re holding hands, or she’ll laugh at one of Joana’s dumb jokes and throw her head back, or she’ll look at Joana with <em>that look</em>, the one where her lashes flutter against her cheek – and Joana is only human. That one walk home, she gets really good at pinning Cris to walls without hurting her. It’s like a reflex now.</p><p>Once they get to Joana’s apartment, however, it’s Cris who takes control.</p><p>One second, Joana’s fumbling with her keys; the next, she’s turned around and pushed up against the door, hands stroking her hipbones and a tongue in her throat.</p><p>“If you want this to go further, you’ll have to let me unlock the door,” Joana pants when Cris pulls away to take a breath. Cris is too busy kissing down her throat, and only offers a hum in response.</p><p>It takes too long for Joana to cover Cris’ mouth and spin back around to face the door. It takes too long for her to unlock the door, too, but that’s only because it’s really hard to focus when the hottest girl you’ve ever seen is biting your ear.</p><p>When she opens the door, they fall through the entrance – literally. All of Cris’ weight is pressed to Joana’s back, so she stumbles into her apartment with hands around her waist that won’t let go. She stops at the kitchen counter, catching herself on the cold stone and grounding herself.</p><p>
  <em>Don’t fuck this up, Joana. </em>
</p><p>She twists in Cris’ hold and leans back when Cris goes in for the kiss. They look at each other in the kitchen, and Joana vaguely wonders if the moon is brighter than usual tonight. Her apartment is never this light at night. She always imagined that Cris’ eyes would reflect the light, but her pupils are blown so wide she can barely see the ring of blue. She focuses on her eyelashes instead – sort of blonde at the ends, catching and then throwing beams of moonlight.</p><p>“Maybe we should talk about this,” Joana breathes out. It feels like a bad idea, but a smart one.</p><p>Cris laughs. “About what? I’m pretty sure we both want the same thing.”</p><p>Joana dares to hope. “Oh yeah?”</p><p>Cris pulls her in for a kiss – a deep one, a tender one, one with so much intensity to it Joana can feel it burn.</p><p>She hopes against hope.</p><p>--</p><p>Joana gets lost in Cris.</p><p>She gets lost in the plains of her legs, the mountains of her ribcage, the valley of her navel. She loses track of her own fingers over translucent skin; lets them get away from her on the rough and hot sunburns. (She lets her tongue take care of the soft pink parts.)</p><p>She holds Cris close, so impossibly close – takes Cris’ legs and wraps them around her waist, her ears, aching to get closer even when there is no space between them.</p><p>Except energy. There’s only energy between them now. </p><p>--</p><p>They wear each other out. They curl up into each other on Joana’s tussled bed sheets, syncing their breathing until they are of one lung. They whisper about nothing, about everything. They tell each other about all their infinite nothings. They don’t dare speak too loud, for fear of shattering something so fragile.</p><p>There’s something about falling in love at night, through whispers and soft touches. Any louder, any more permanent, things could become real. They are not ready for reality. Morning has no place here.</p><p>They don’t dare break the spell of stars, of darkness, of secrets told and secrets kept and secrets never uttered aloud. Instead, they hold each other, and promise they understand.</p><p>They let their thoughts melt into their intertwined hands, onto the mattress, into the ravine of their own consciousness. There is liberation in letting go without knowing why.</p><p>--</p><p>The first time Joana wakes up, it’s before the sun. Her room is cold, but its hot under the blankets, hotter than usual. She snuggles into the dark warmth and feels soft resistance on her head, something preventing her from burying her face in between the pillows. She keeps her eyes closed, trying to identify what the thing is with her nose.</p><p>She feels it breathe, and memories of the previous night appear in her sleep-addled haze.</p><p>She tucks her head against the curve of Cris’ neck, ignoring the hair tickling her eyelashes, and wishes for this to last forever.</p><p>--</p><p>The second time Joana wakes up, the blankets are nowhere to be found. She’s still on her side, but when she opens her eyes, it is not to pale, lightly freckled skin, but to daylight streaming through the window. Rather, Cris has turned around, presumably to avoid looking directly at the sun, and is currently breathing into Joana’s sternum. Joana imagines the soft puffs echoing through her chest and wonders if Cris would be okay with getting under her skin like that. If Cris would want to know her like that, like knowing her from the inside. She thinks she would like her to.</p><p>Joana curves her arm around Cris’ shoulder and begins to breathe again. Before she relaxes completely though, she places a soft kiss on blonde hair and thinks its like kissing pure sunlight.</p><p>--</p><p>The third time Joana wakes up, the bed is empty.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. the rising</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Is this what love feels like?” she whispers, so quietly it’s little more than an exhale.<br/>She hears a “yes” somewhere above her lungs.<br/>“Is this what love is?” she asks, holding her breath for an answer.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She calls in sick for work and tells herself that it’s because her throat is sore and her head hurts and her whole body became lead. She tells herself it has nothing to do with Cris, nothing at all. If her boss gets pissed, well that’s his fault.</p><p>She washes her sheets six times to get the smell out, three in the machine and three in the tub because she runs out of change. She vacuums everything: months-old crumbs, weeks-old dust, hours-old strands of blonde hair. She scrubs the bathroom clean then lies on the cold tile, watching sunlight move across the mirror and tells herself it’s because of a hangover she doesn’t have.</p><p>She calls in sick for the whole week, and her boss tells her that it’s okay in a gentle, soft voice over the phone. He says that it’s raining all week anyway, so the café will be dead anyway. He says that she can take whatever time she needs, because she’s most useful when she’s at her best anyway. He says that, for this week, it is totally okay, because she was overdue for some vacation time anyway.</p><p>She wonders what she did to deserve this. If she did something so good, why did the universe repay her with a great boss and a crippling one-night stand?</p><p>She fields calls from her friends but answers the one from her mom. She talks about school and work and her mom talks about the aunts and church and only hints at medication, which Joana considers a win. She traces the tracks of raindrops on the window while her mom laments the weather, the phone lying on the windowsill and her heart somewhere else.</p><p>--</p><p>On the sixth day, she opens the café on time.</p><p>She’s coming at 6am from the wrong end, so she treats herself to three espresso shots and barely notices how they scald her tongue. She does a few jumps, shaking her hands at her sides, trying to get the blood rushing to her head and hoping that she doesn’t pass out on the coffee machine.</p><p>Nobody comes in for three hours, and it’s for the better; Joana’s hands shake as she wipes down the counters and refills napkin dispensers and milk carafes. She steals a stool from the window and places it behind the cash register, leaning against it while flipping through the pages of a novel she barely reads.</p><p>Well, she <em>does </em>read it, but she couldn’t tell you what it’s about. She tears through the text, absorbing the words while her mind shuts off for the first time in six days. She feels herself underline quotes, pretty lines like “there was a star riding through clouds one night, and I said to the star, ‘consume me’,” and “I condemn you. Yet my heart yearns for you.” When she catches herself rereading the lines over and over again, she wonders how her fingers know her soul better than her mind.</p><p>The jingle of a bell snaps her out of her it, bookmarking the book and raising her eyes to the doorway. An angel stands in it, drenched and silhouetted in rain.</p><p>“Can we talk?” the angel asks, and Joana remembers how her dad once told her that the Bible described angels as fearsome, terrifying creatures, rather than ethereal models. How accurate it seems.</p><p>Joana swallows her fear but does not move. Cris walks quickly to the counter, but it feels like it takes forever. Joana counts the steps – seventeen and a half – and doesn’t notice the thud of the door closing.</p><p>She forces herself to make direct eye contact with Cris, and hears herself command, “talk.” It sounds sharp, a knife of a word. She wonders if Cris can feel the stab.</p><p>“I’m really sorry, Joana.”</p><p>“For what?” The words drip with acid.</p><p>Cris huffs. “For leaving that morning, out of the blue. It was shitty, and I’m sorry.”</p><p>Joana tears her gaze away, feeling the heat rise in her lungs. “Apology accepted. Anything I can get you today?” She punctuates it with a forced smile.</p><p>“C’mon Joana, don’t give me that.”</p><p>“Is there anything I can get you today?” she repeats. “A coffee, maybe a pastry-”</p><p>Cris cuts her off. “Don’t act like it didn’t mean anything to you.”</p><p>Joana hears the reply from far away. “If you’re not going to order anything, you should leave.”</p><p>Cris slams her hands against the wooden counter. “Fuck you, Joana. You know I came here every single day, looking for you? I sat in a shitty chair for five fucking days doing my stupid homework, hoping that you would walk in so we could talk. So that I could explain that I was so goddamn <em>scared </em>that I left your apartment.”</p><p>“Scared of what?” Joana asks softly, narrowing her eyes at Cris. Cris looks directly at her and leans forward. They’re challenging each other, Joana knows. Joana is challenging Cris to fess up to something (she doesn’t know what); Cris is challenging Joana to believe her (Joana doesn’t know if she can).</p><p>“Of how happy I was with you. Of how much I wanted, <em>needed </em>you to like me. Of falling so hard that I haven’t slept or ate or breathed in six days without thinking of you.”  </p><p>Joana leans back, crossing her arms. “We barely know each other.”</p><p>“But doesn’t it feel like we do? Like we’ve known each other for years? It was so easy with you, Joana. Don’t you get that?”</p><p>Joana nods. Cris reaches out a hand, and Joana takes it.</p><p>--</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Joana wakes up slowly, gradually becoming aware of the pillow beneath her head and the warmth against her back. She feels something stroking along her arm, drawing patterns, then turns her head for a kiss. (She gets one.)</p><p>“Good morning,” she mutters into Cris’ collarbone. She feels a hum in response against her nose.</p><p>“You have a lot of tattoos.”</p><p>Joana slides onto her back, holding Cris’ arm down with her shoulders, and lifting up her hands, inspecting the ink on her forearms. Cris’ right hand comes up to trace them, catching on the raised lines of the newer drawings.</p><p>“Do they mean anything?” Cris asks.</p><p>Joana shrugs. “Sure, this one’s a knife, meaning it’s a knife, and this one –”</p><p>She’s cut off with a laugh and a hand pushing her face. Joana laughs too, letting herself float away with the joy emanating in waves from Cris. They wrestle half-heartedly, preferring to nuzzle into each other’s warmth and exchange soft kisses with no real intent.</p><p>They end with Cris’ head tucked against Joana’s throat, fingers tracing the shadows of her collarbone. Joana absently draws patterns on Cris’ back, staring up the ceiling, and wonders aloud.</p><p>“Is this what love feels like?” she whispers, so quietly it’s little more than an exhale.</p><p>She hears a “yes” somewhere above her lungs.</p><p>“Is this what love is?” she asks, holding her breath for an answer.</p><p>Cris props her head up on Joana’s chest, her grip tightening on her shoulder. “Not yet,” she admits, smiling. “But it can be. I want it to be.”</p><p>Joana smiles, and lets it consume her.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for sticking with this, i know it took forever! if you got this far, thank you &lt;3</p><p>the novel joana is reading is the waves by virginia woolf.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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